


Size Doesn't Matter

by izazov



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Established Relationship, Fluff, Inspired by Fanart, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 08:53:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11620170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izazov/pseuds/izazov
Summary: An incident results in Steve reverting to his pre-serum body. It may be the worst thing that has happened to Tony Stark. Or the best.





	Size Doesn't Matter

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [Cap IM Tiny RB Round 3: Timely](http://capim-tinybang.tumblr.com/post/163018951393/cap-im-tiny-rb-round-3-timely/) by one-and-five-nines

When the green smoke cleared and Tony could finally - _finally_ \- get a clear view of Steve, his heart lurched to an abrupt stop for a fraction of a second.

Steve was swaying on his feet slightly, bracing himself against an upturned car with one unsteady hand. He was standing a couple of feet away from where he’d been when the blast hit him, when he pushed Tony out of the way, close enough for Tony to get a good look of his heaving chest and-

_Steve really shouldn’t have intervened_ , Tony thought with a sort of calm detachment that usually preceded an outburst of panic, his eyes glued to Steve who was now unstrapping and pulling his cowl off his head, giving Tony an obstructed view of his face.

Steve appeared unharmed, if slightly dazed, his eyes wide and unfocused as he took in his surroundings. A large part of Tony’s mind was currently stuck in a state between shock and panic, but he still managed to do the sensible thing and scan Steve for injuries. Mercifully, save a couple of scrapes and contusions, the suit’s scans showed not a trace of an injury.

Tony breathed a small sigh of relief. Other than that, he remained perfectly still, unable to drag his eyes away from Steve, trying but failing to wrap his mind around what he was seeing: Steve, looking as if he’d never undergone Project Rebirth. 

Sure, Tony had seen a few existing photos of Steve before the serum, but looking at the black and white photos of a man he’d thought was long dead was one thing. This, now? Even after everything Tony had lived through seeing the way Steve’s usually skin-thigh uniform hang loosely from his narrow shoulders, felt surreal.

Steve’s cowl dropped on the ground with a soft thunk, his face going deathly pale as he brought his hands up. Steve slowly turned his hands over, staring at them with a mixture of disbelief and growing horror.

Tony blinked, his throat tightening, then made an instinctive step forward in the same moment Steve looked up, his eyes settling on Tony, a glimmer of relief - of hope - flickering through the haze of confusion and helpless dread in Steve’s gaze.

Tony stopped dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. He knew, in a distant part of his mind, what he should do: lift the faceplate and close the distance that separated him from Steve, wrap his arms around him and do whatever it takes to wipe that lost, desolate expression from Steve’s face. 

Tony knew all that, and he wanted to do it, but his body remained frozen on the spot as if it were encased in ice not in the most advanced suit of armor.

Steve blinked, still staring at Tony with those wide, trusting eyes, and Tony just stood there, like a complete and utter asshole, listening to the rush of blood in his ears and watching Steve’s shoulders sag and that flicker of hope fade from his eyes as his expression drew into a frown, only to harden and close off entirely.

***

“Bruce says you’re okay,” Tony blurted out. The moment the words left his mouth he wished he could take them back. Or walk over to the nearest wall and bang his head against it. Repeatedly.

_At least you managed actual words this time Stark_ , Tony thought, forcing himself to remain still. He was still wearing the armor, minus the helmet, and nervous fidgeting and a full metal suit did not make a particularly fortunate match. _Wrong words, sure, but at least you said something._

Steve said nothing for one extremely uncomfortable moment. He merely stared at Tony with a guarded look that made Tony’s decision not to fidget a nearly impossible task.

Silence stretched past uncomfortable and straight into can-I-please-disappear-now territory when Steve finally tilted his head to the side, his gaze softening imperceptibly.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he remarked wryly, a hint of a rueful smile curving the corner of his mouth. He glanced briefly at his narrow chest, then back up at Tony, something bitter and helpless shadowing his eyes. He was sitting on an exam table in Bruce’s lab, wearing only his too big uniform pants. “I’ll live, if that was what you were wondering.” He paused for a second, his jaw tightening in that familiar way that usually preceded a fight. “Why are you here, Tony?”

Tony blinked, taken aback. Were he not in the suit, he probably would have flinched back. But he was in the suit, so he settled for a frown, feeling equally hurt and offended by Steve’s words.

“Where else would I have been?” Tony sputtered, taking a step forward. His heart was doing that thing where it attempted to beat its way out of his sternum, and he could feel annoyance stir in his gut. Yeah, he fucked up when he saw what happened to Steve, and then again when he allowed Bruce to talk him out of following after them, but that was what Tony did, he fucked up, Steve should have gotten used to it by now. “You’re here.”

“I’ve been here for the last two hours,” Steve pointed out, voice flat. His right hand was resting in his lap, folded in a loose fist, while his left one curled around the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip.

_Why haven’t you come earlier_ , went unsaid.

Tony made another step forward, then froze when he saw Steve’s shoulders stiffen abruptly. Tony’s gaze lingered on the narrow line of Steve’s shoulders for one moment. He’d had his arms wrapped around those shoulders countless times, his fingers digging into hard muscle that was no longer there, leaving skin stretched taut over bone, and making it perfectly clear how fragile and breakable Steve was currently. 

When Tony dragged his eyes away, guiltily, he was met with Steve’s eyes, looking in equal parts defiant and lost.

“I fucked up, Steve, I know that,” Tony blurted out, spreading his hands helplessly. “But I’m here now and-”

“It doesn’t fit me anymore,” Steve interrupted quietly. His mouth twisted into a pale shadow of a smile as he glanced down. Tony blinked in confusion. Then, he looked down, his chest suddenly going very, very tight at the sight of a thin silver chain on Steve’s splayed palm. Something bitter gathered in the back of Tony’s throat as his heart drummed a beat that was nothing but pure dread, watching as Steve slowly traced the outline of the ring that was hanging from the chain. After a moment, Steve looked up, catching Tony’s gaze and holding out his hand. “You If it had been on my finger, I would have probably lost it.”

Tony stared blankly at the ring resting on Steve’s palm, not really seeing it. Not that he really needed to, considering he’d been the one to design and mould it from the vibranium he’d managed to procure from T’Challa. Just as he had done with its twin, the one Tony wore even now, underneath the armor.

“Steve,” Tony said in a low voice he’d only barely heard over the blood rushing in his ears. Tony was somewhat surprised he managed coherency at all, considering the mess inside his head and chest. “I have fucked up, I admit it, but what the hell do you think you’re doing now?”

Steve’s expression remained the same; a combination of unyielding resolve and desolation. His outstretched hands did not waver in the slightest.

“Giving you an out,” Steve said, his voice, despite the stubborn jut of his chin, coming out unsteady. “Like I said, it doesn’t fit me.”

Tony took a deep, calming breath, ignoring the sudden, irrational urge to grab Steve by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. He shook his head and swallowed thickly.

“Okay, I’m going to go now,” Tony announced in a carefully controlled voice. He closed his eyes for a second, opening them to the sight of Steve’s face drawing into a frown. “Hopefully, when I come back you’ll stop talking crazy. _Then_ , we’ll speak.”

Tony didn’t wait for Steve’ inevitable reply. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the lab, nearly colliding with Bruce in the hall.

“Tony? What is wrong?”

Tony swallowed a surge of hysterical laughter as it bubbled inside his throat. He shook his head in lieu of a reply, the clang of his boots against the tiles not nearly loud enough to drawn out the wild drumming of his heart.

***

Steve did not attempt to return the ring again. Tony would have counted that as a win were it not for the fact Steve was no longer wearing it, either. After the first day, Tony had - more or less successfully - managed to stop himself from outright staring at Steve’s neck and the glaring absence of the silver chain there. 

And Steve… well, Tony now knew how it felt to simultaneously want to scream at Steve, shake some sense into him and just take him to their bed, snuggle next to him and do whatever it takes to make that desolate look disappear from Steve’s eyes.

If there had been even a shadow of a doubt in Tony’s mind about the correlation between Steve’s pig-headedness and serum, past week would have proved that theory wrong. Serum had nothing to do with Steve’s tendency to exercise blindness to everything but his own judgement. Granted, when it came to a lot of things, Steve’s - however antiquated and rigid - moral compass tended to be a lot more dependable than Tony’s own ‘it seemed a good idea at the time’ approach. 

But this time, Steve was wrong. Had been wrong from the start. And yeah, Tony could have reacted better to what has happened to Steve, but once his thoughts had stopped resembling a headless chicken and he’d gone to see Steve, to try to fix things, it was already too late.

Steve has come to his own conclusions, made an unilateral call which resulted in Steve erecting a wall between the two of them, a wall all Tony’s words, all his pleas and assurances, could not penetrate.

They have fought before - they wouldn’t be them if they haven’t - but it was never like this. Not that they were fighting now. Steve would have to stay in the same room with Tony for longer than ten minutes to give them a chance to fight.

They were together over two years, and in the space of a week they have turned to strangers.

They slept in the same bed, still, but Tony was beginning to think sleeping alone would have been a lesser torture than sleeping with his back to Steve, feeling like there were miles and miles of space between them, space filled with stubborn silence, helpless frustration and raw misery.

Despite all that, Steve still hadn’t actually come and broken thing off. 

But that had been before Bruce’s announcement that restoring Steve back might not happen as soon as everyone had been hoping it would.

Or at all.

***

“I’m telling you, Rhodey,” Tony stopped pacing and leaned against the workbench, rubbing his knuckles across his forehead, “I’m at the end of my patience.”

A telling pause preceded Rhodey’s monosyllabic reply. “Huh.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “I can be patient.”

“Tony,” Rhodey’s voice came as a half amused and half exasperated sigh. “I love you, but your idea of patience is field testing Iron Man’s repulsors beginning with twenty percent power.”

Tony glared at the phone. “You’re doing a crap job as a best friend,” he grumbled. “You should be comforting me not casting aspersions on my character.”

A lengthy pause followed Tony’s last statement. Idly, Tony poked at the half-assembled Iron Man’s left gauntlet that was lying on the workbench. Strictly speaking, there had been nothing wrong with it, Tony just needed something to occupy his mind with. Something he could fix. Improve.

Unlike the mess that was his relationship with Steve. That Tony had no idea how to fix. Not even where to start.

“So,” Rhodey said finally. “I take it you and Steve are still on the outs?”

Tony’s mouth twisted bitterly. _On the outs, right._ If only it were so simple.

“He doesn’t even want to argue with me.” Tony dragged a tired hand across his face, his shoulders slumping dejectedly. He’d give away half of his considerable wealth for just one crack in the façade Steve has built around himself. “He’s the most polite stranger I’ve ever had sleeping in my bed.”

“Look, Tony,” Rhodey’s voice perfectly illustrated how much he did not want to have this conversation. “I’m not defending him, but the guy’s had his entire existence turn upside down. It’s normal he’s having trouble adjusting.”

Tony swallowed around the pressure in his throat. “There is nothing normal about any of this, Rhodey,” Tony said, running his fingers through his hair. Panic and helplessness that were churning inside him spilt over, seeping into his voice. He grabbed the edge of the workbench and squeezed, and squeezed and squeezed until squeezing harder could only result in broken fingers. “I don’t -- I don’t know what to do.”

“Talking always helps. Especially when it comes to the two of you.”

Tony’s eyes fell shut for a fraction of a moment, the images of Steve’s blank expression and withdrawn gaze flickering behind his closed eyelids. “I tried that already. Steve, he--” Tony broke off, releasing a strangled sound that was equal parts misery and aggravation. He opened his eyes, drew in a deep breath, releasing the hold on the workbench. “He doesn’t want to talk. He either ignores my words or avoids me entirely.”

“Then try harder.”

“What should I do?” Tony snapped. “Tie him somewhere and force him to listen to me? Until it finally pierces his thick skull that I don’t care how he looks or how strong he is?” 

A heavy sigh from the other side of the line was Rhodey’s only response. Tony could easily picture him shaking his head, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Weariness crashed over Tony like a tidal wave. His entire body felt stiff and cold, as if his bones are made of lead, forcing him down, down, down.

Tony half dragged himself to the other side of the lab, crashing down onto the cot, and bowing his head.

“I’m afraid, Rhodey,” Tony whispered into the phone, his own voice drifting up to his ears as something foreign, unrecognizable. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“You love the guy, right?” Rhodey said, finally.

A feeble laugh tore from Tony’s throat. He glanced down at his left hand, his eyes catching on the glimmer of metal he wore around his finger. “Denial would be fucking impossible at this point. Even for me.”

“Well, then. Maybe that’s where you need to start.”

***

The rings were Tony’s idea.

It had been a good idea, but executed in such a terrible way, it was a miracle it hadn’t blown spectacularly in Tony’s face. Well, miracle and the fact that Steve could see through Tony’s bullshit.

Not that Tony had understood it at the time.

_“Come on, Steve, work with me here.” Tony sidled closer to Steve, grinning up at him. “Just imagine the headlines.”_

_The frown on Steve’s face deepened as he looked up from the metal band on the palm of his right hand to Tony’s face. There was a flicker of something like sorrow or longing in his eyes, there and gone fast, replaced by disappointment and something colder, harsher. He took a step back._

_“You want me-”_

_“Us.”_

_“… to wear an engagement ring because you want to troll the media?”_

_“Now, you get-- Hey, who taught you that word? Tell me it wasn’t Barton.”_

_Steve’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw twitched faintly. Something like alarm flashed on the outer edges of Tony’s mind._

_Steve’s fingers closed over the ring, then opened again, his mouth tightening into a flat line. He lifted the ring off his palm, and yeah, there was no mistaking that particular look in his eyes; Steve was pissed off._

_Tony blinked, his heart skipping a beat as it made a leap from gleeful anticipation into confused panic. Obviously, he’d fucked up. But damage control was a constant feature of his and Steve’s relationship, he was used to it. He just needed to ascertain where he should start this time._

_“I cannot believe you-” Steve trailed off into silence abruptly, the expression on his face sliding into confusion as he held the ring higher, turning it over in front of his eyes. His gaze, somewhat uncertainly, flicked from the ring to Tony’s face, then back again. “This is vibranium.”_

_“Yes?” Tony said carefully. He was staring at Steve’s face cautiously, noting the way it relaxed, then softened with a smile. It made him cautiously optimistic. He took a step forward, sliding his hand around Steve’s waist. “You like it? I thought about adding sapphire and ruby… you know, for the effect, but,” Tony trailed off when Steve looked at him, his eyes full of wonder and something that made Tony’s heart malfunction for one distant moment. “I liked it better this way,” Tony finished lamely._

_Steve dropped his hand, his fingers closing protectively over the ring. Then, almost hesitatingly, he reached after Tony’s hand. His left one. The one with the ring on it. Steve traced the outline of Tony’s ring with his thumb in a way that seemed like a caress._

_“Where did you get vibranium?” Steve asked softly. He wasn’t looking at Tony, though, his eyes following the movement of his thumb._

_“T’Challa,” Tony said in a hoarse voice, more than a little distracted by Steve’s proximity and his sudden intense fixation with Tony’s ring. “I think he finally relented because- oh.”_

_Tony’s throat went dry, his thoughts scattering in every direction when Steve slowly lifted his hand up to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss on the ring._

_“You’re an idiot,” Steve murmured softly, looking at Tony with such tenderness, Tony found himself unable to breathe for a moment. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Steve abandoned his hold on Tony’s hand and closed the remaining space between them, cradling the side of Tony’s face. “And I love you.”_

Tony might be filthy rich and an asshole with a dubious sense of humour and a lacking impulse control, but not even he would have gone through the trouble of procuring the rarest metal on the planet in order to make engagement rings because he’d wanted to fuck with the media.

Steve… well, he’d merely come to the conclusion first. It had taken a few months more for Tony to finally admit it to himself.

He was in love with Steve Rogers and he wanted to keep him for the rest of his life. Make him his.

And he wanted the entire world to know it.

***

“Tony,” Steve said quietly. He’d made it sound like a greeting, but there was a question in his eyes as he looked at Tony, his eyes catching briefly on the flowers in Tony’s hand.

Tony closed the door behind himself. He took two steps forward before halting abruptly, his heart starting to pick up speed. He was nervous, Tony realized with not a small amount of irritation.

Swallowing, Tony slipped his hand into his suit jacket’s pocket, his fingers closing over the small metal band for a second. He knew what he needed-- no, what he _wanted_ to do. He just needed… well, actually go through with it.

“I fucked up,” Tony announced solemnly. Steve’s eyes widened a fraction. For a brief moment, he resembled a frightened wild animal ready to bolt, but then his expression shifted into a faint frown, his narrow shoulders stiffening visibly as he lowered the book he’d been reading and stood up from the sofa, facing Tony. Tony allowed himself a small smile. Well, it was not like Steve’s ingrained response to danger has ever been flight. “Several times, in fact.”

Steve’s mouth twitched faintly like it always had when he tried to suppress a smile. “Usually you’re less willing to admit to it.”

Tony shrugged. “Maybe,” he conceded, a half smile curving in the corner of his mouth for a fleeting second. “But one of us has to be reasonable, and it sure as hell doesn’t look like it’s going to be you.”

Steve’s expression froze in stunned disbelief. Tony refused to give him time to recover, to allow confusion to morph into anger. He took another step forward, his eyes fixed on Steve’s. “We need to talk, Steve, and this time-” Tony brought up his hands in a placating gesture, belatedly remembering he was still holding the flowers. And probably looking like an idiot. Swallowing a frustrated sound, he lowered the flowers down onto the coffee table, running a nervous hand through his hair. “Okay, obviously I suck at this solemn thing. Can we try again?”

For a moment Steve looked like the old Steve; exasperation and fond amusement clear on his face. But it lasted all too briefly. “And what should we try again, Tony?” Steve asked, folding his hands across his chest. He might have lost the muscle mass, but that did nothing to diminish the force of his glare. “Discussing my irrational behavior?”

Tony took a deep breath, forcing himself to remember that bashing Steve over the head with a bouquet of roses would be detrimental to his goal. It would make him feel better, though. At least for a moment.

“I’m not here to fight with you, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes widen with surprise. But it quickly shifted into something that looked like sorrow. “But we always end up fighting, don’t we, Tony?”

Tony smiled. “That’s why there’s make-up sex. We have something to look forward to.”

Steve’s eyebrows went up, the laughter that spilled from his lips sounded both startled and amused. Tony’s smile widened. For a moment, everything seemed fine, _they_ were fine, even if Steve was the one who had to look up at Tony’s face. 

“Look, Tony,” Steve began, growing serious and effectively ruining the moment. “You are right. We do need to talk.”

Tony bit back a curse, having a fairly good idea where this would go by the tense line of Steve’s shoulders and the grim determination in his eyes.

“I know what you’re about to say, so I’m going to spare you the trouble and tell you my answer is hell no.”

Steve gave him a flat look, but the curve of his mouth conveyed nothing but misery. “I didn’t need to see your face that day, Tony,” Steve said, voice barely above a whisper. He stood stiff and defiant, but Tony could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way his throat worked as he swallowed. “You made your feelings quite clear.”

Tony took a calming breath, then another, and another, then he decided to say fuck it.

“You want the truth, Rogers?” Tony didn’t bother to mask the anger in his voice. They were past that now. He was past that, no matter his earlier decision of handling this conversation patiently and calmly. He lifted his left hand, ignored the pained expression that passed across Steve’s face. “If you think I appreciated the fact you could fuck me against a wall, guess what, you’re right. But if you think that is the reason I am wearing this ring, then you’re an idiot.”

“And why _are_ you still wearing it?” Steve asked, sounding frustrated, helpless and hopeful all at the same time.

“Oh, for-- Because _I love you_ , you idiot,” Tony exclaimed, throwing up his hands in a gesture of frustration. “I thought you knew that.”

Steve stared at him silently. Tony fought very hard to hold Steve’s gaze all of a sudden. “You never said it,” Steve said finally. His voice was very, very soft. But there was something bright starting to rise from the depths from his eyes. “I was beginning to have doubts.”

Tony shrugged, smiling ruefully. “Like I said, I fucked up. Several times. But I-” Tony cut himself off, swallowed. His throat felt tight suddenly, his heart beating wildly. He knew what he wanted, but that made what he was about to do only marginally less terrifying. “I want to do it better this time. Do it right.”

Steve frowned. “Do what right?”

Tony reached for the ring he’d been carrying everywhere for the last two days. The exact replica of the one he’d already given Steve, but made to fit him now. Then, he crossed the space that separated them, sinking down onto one knee. Steve’s eyes went wide.

Tony looked up at Steve, trying but failing to cover how nervous he felt with a grin. “The first time I’d done this, I was an ass and you had every right to break things off. I’m happy you didn’t, though.” Pausing, Tony cleared his throat. “So. I’m ridiculously in love with you, despite you having a foul temper and being more stubborn than a pack of mules, and I’d really-- seriously Steve, stop laughing, I’m trying to propose to you.”

When he stopped laughing, Steve lowered himself into a crouch, cradling Tony’s face between his hands. “That’s probably the least romantic proposal anyone has ever made, Tony.”

“Probably,” Tony conceded, smiling. “What do you say? Want to marry me?”

Steve laughed, leaning his forehead against Tony’s. “Yes,” he said, voice bright with laughter. “God help me, but I do.”


End file.
